Gilded Latten Bones (21 page)

Singe was still standing by the door. I said, “You want to take these instructions? I’ll lose them just going down the hall.”

“Put the paper on my desk. I’m busy.” She began sliding bolts back.

I panicked all over again. And with no more need. When I shambled back from putting the medicines and instructions on Singe’s desk, with the latter carefully weighted down by the former, I found Kolda pressed back against the far wall of the hall, completely rattled. DeeDee, Crush, and Miss Tea filled the hall with bounce, beauty, and chatter. DeeDee was in a blood sport mood. She had Kolda picked for the weakest game on the plain and thought he needed tormenting.

I blurted, “What are you three doing here?” Ever the boy with the golden tongue. “I’m glad I made a good impression, but...”

Miss Tea moved into my personal space. I cringed back into Singe’s office. She chucked me under the chin. “We have the evening off. We couldn’t stay away.”

Crush came in close, too, but she was just looking past me.

Strafa Algarda descended the stair again, drawn by the hubbub. She began to glower. Likewise, Singe, from the doorway end of the hallway. I said, “Morley is in the room on the left, right there.”

“Thank you.”

Crush asked, “This is where you live? You must do pretty good.”

“I was lucky on a couple of jobs. And I work with people who are the best at what they do.”

Singe kept scowling. She was seriously irked about something.

Crush looked at her, Kolda now getting his breath and color back, and the Windwalker. She saw something I didn’t. She said, “I see books. Can I look?”

Singe gave a grudging nod. She may have gotten advice from the Dead Man.

“Sure. Come on. They aren’t mine, though, so don’t touch.”

Some kind of joyful reunion commenced in the other room. Morley Dotes and Miss Tea were old friends after all.

Crush asked, “Are they the witch’s books?”

“The witch?”

“The woman at the end of the hall. It’s obvious.”

“She might resent being called a witch. She’s a lot more. Height of the Hill. A Windwalker. No. The books are Singe’s. The one who let you in.”

“Really?” Amazed.

“Truly. She is the smartest person I know, human or rat. I couldn’t survive without her.” No need to mention the Dead Man.

He had to be in heaven, slithering through the secrets buried in all these fresh minds. He’d never use what he found, likely, but he would feel good knowing.

He had to be in heaven, complete with this whole mess. He was learning a lot of the secrets of this dark old city. Or so it must seem after a long dry spell.

Be careful, Garrett. That crumpet will fall in love with you for Singe’s books.
More amusement.

I asked Crush, “Didn’t you want to see Morley?”

“Not so much. DeeDee is enough competition for Mike.”

I didn’t follow. I heard the front door open and close. Now what? I went to look. Crush crowded up to peek past me.

Penny Dreadful had arrived. She was loaded with artist’s stuff. She froze when she saw me looking. I couldn’t resist. I winked. Her gaze shifted to Crush, who wasn’t much older than she. She scowled. Crush glared. Penny headed for the door to the Dead Man’s room. Kolda opened it. I asked Crush, “Do you know Penny?”

“Only by type.”

“Kid has lived a rough life.” I sketched it.

Crush was not impressed. She had some background of her own.

“Singe, how did Penny know we needed her help?”

“I have skills, partner. I sent a message.” She gave Crush a look that should have caused bone bruises.

She was not feeling charitable toward any female today.

The Dead Man finally clued me to something he should have mentioned as soon as I came into range.
It is her estrus time and today is its peak. She has taken drugs to suppress the effects. Those are not entirely efficacious where the psychological indications are concerned. I do enjoy these newcomers. I had quite forgotten how colorful some of your acquaintances can be.

Crush said, “She was jealous when she saw me.”

“What?” The Windwalker? Singe?
Penny?

That roused the logic beast and got it shambling. It fed on things that had been happening the past few days.

Singe no longer consciously entertained the adolescent fantasies she had suffered when first we teamed up but I was top rat around here. She might have formed a deep down attachment that got the salt in the raw wound treatment when she was in heat.

Time to be careful.

She was taking some potent drugs. The rat thugs who were in and out never responded to her. Dollar Dan had been nursing a yearning for Singe since John Stretch took over as number-one rat gangster. Dan would be watching for an opportunity.

All right. Singe didn’t like anyone female right now because they were competition for the boss rat’s attention. Tinnie must be way up on her transitory list. But Tinnie wasn’t here. Strafa Algarda was. And Crush, who was just a kid.

Crush slipped past, stepped down the hall, glanced back, gave me an unwarranted “gotcha!” look that I would have expected from DeeDee first.

That had to be for her own benefit. She thought she had proven that I could be manipulated even when I was trying to be a good guy.

Singe smoldered.

How long would this last? Would this be her worst day? I hoped.

I then realized that she had not left the door.

Oh, God and all His Saints defend me! All I needed was for the redhead to walk into this menagerie. The only female in the place Tinnie would trust might be Penny. And that would change the instant she got a look at how Penny had grown.

Someone knocked. Singe started undoing bolts.

56

Kolda sort of half whimpered. “You don’t got any more need for me, Garrett, I better get on out of here.” Body language screamed that he was a liar. What he really wanted was to dive into the visiting mob. Team Fire and Ice could have their way with him till the stretcher bearers carried him away. “Trudi don’t like it if she has to wait up.”

Who was Trudi?

Fiancée.

That old devil time playing tricks again. Did Kolda have a wife back when he was trying to poison me? I thought so but couldn’t remember for sure. Well, he didn’t have one now. The woman he did have scared him, though not as much as the fantasies tormenting him here.

“If you got to go, you got to go. You wouldn’t want to miss supper on account of these beasts. Are you having trouble, Singe?”

“That idiot out there keeps pushing on the door. This bolt won’t slide if there’s pressure. I had it made that way. Ah. I’ve got it now.” She let the door swing.

In came Jon Salvation and a companion recently escaped from a homeless shelter. The latter lugged gear similar to what Penny had dragged in. His was seedier. He was seedier, by an order of magnitude. He needed to discover soap and water. He needed to steal some clean clothes. And he maybe ought to forego the next dozen bottles of ardent spirits.

His hair was a wild, gray tangle. I shuddered to think what vile livestock he was importing into my house. He was shorter than Salvation and a whole lot dumpier. He was the epicenter of a fierce medley of smells.

Jon Salvation said, “This is the Bird, Garrett. Bird, this is the guy who needs your help.” He turned. “Singe, can you show the Bird where to set up?” He nudged me a few steps toward the kitchen, whispering, “You have any hard liquor? The Bird has a problem inside his head. He needs the stuff to keep the voices quiet.”

I opened my mouth with intent to remind the Remora what he was known to be full of. I received a gentle cautionary brush from the Dead Man. “Voices? Really?”

“You need to see it to believe it. This guy is a genius. When he has just the right amount of firewater in him, so the voices are softer, he paints like an angel.”

I believed Salvation. I had run into something like that before.

I asked Salvation, “You have any idea what Bird’s real feelings about his madness are?”

“What do you mean?”

“Does he want the voices to go away?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“I would. Yes. But would you? If that meant that you wouldn’t have the magic to be a playwright anymore?”

“You’re thinking that the Dead Man might be able to shut the mental doors on his demons.”

“Might. Come down here one more step.” I looked into the room where Morley was taking the attentions of several beautiful women as his birthright. “Crush. Got a minute?”

Young Hellbore turned away from her mother and Madam Mike. She showed me a teen’s practiced expression combining boredom, embarrassment, and disgust. “What?” Her expression did not improve when she glanced at my companion.

“I told you that if I got the chance I’d introduce you to Jon Salvation. This is him.” I told the Remora, “Crush likes your plays.”

The kid got mad. Of course. But she didn’t make a scene.

I couldn’t see the big deal. This here was Pilsuds Vilchik, the Remora, a weasel who tagged along behind a friend of mine. He whined a lot, got underfoot, and had a twist in his brain that left him unable to see what Winger really was.

I considered Winger a friend but had no illusions about her character.

The idea that this noxious squirt could become a major celebrity was entirely ridiculous.

Singe came out of the Dead Man’s room. The Bird delivered. He should have no problem with Old Bones. He was used to having voices inside his head. She looked at me, Salvation, Crush, leapt to some evil conclusion. Shaking her head, she told me, “I’m going to have a cup of tea before any more complications come up. Guard my office.”

I didn’t get that, unless she was concerned for the sanctity of her books.

Crush and Jon Salvation got along like Hellbore and Pilsuds Vilchik. He was not the giant she had sculpted in her imagination. And she was just another empty-headed kid who asked the same nimrod questions he had heard a thousand times before.

Singe came out of the kitchen carrying a tray with a teapot, sandwiches, and cups. “Join me.” Inside her office, she said, “This place is turning into a zoo filled with human exotica.”

“You got used to the quiet life.”

“I did. And I find the habit hard to break. Eat. This is likely all we’ll get for supper. Dean is exhausted. The sorceress is going to help him get upstairs.”

“She’s good for something, then.”

“Don’t do that when I’m starting to not like her a whole lot less. I’m stressed enough. And it will only get worse. We have no hard liquor.”

“Old Bones ask for it?”

“He thinks he may be able to create a similar effect but wants the real thing handy.”

“We could send Salvation out.”

“Winger drinks, doesn’t she?”

“Yes. Do I need to have Belinda get us out of your hair?”

“She couldn’t get here in time.”

The poor girl sounded like she was about to slide away into despair.

“You want to head upstairs yourself, Singe?”

“I’d better stay.”

“I can handle this crowd.”

“Maybe now. How about half an hour from now? You’re too far gone. I still love you but you aren’t the man you used to be.”

The Windwalker joined us. Singe neither protested nor betrayed any distaste. In fact, there was a cup for Strafa on the tray she had carried in. Was peace about to break out? Or was Singe just too tired to fight?

I asked, “Everyone out there still being civilized?”

Strafa said, “A woman and two girls are fussing over your injured friend. There are three men and a girl in with your dead friend. The three of us are here. And the poisoner is missing.”

Singe said, “I let Kolda out after Jon Salvation got here.”

So. Crush was in with Morley and Salvation was with the Dead Man. That was a brief romance.

Poor Remora. He couldn’t be what his fan wanted him to be.

57

Though there was babble from next door and some sort of foreboding from across the way, all was calm and relaxed in Singe’s office. Tea got sipped. Not much got said. Strafa, Singe, and I relaxed.

After a time, Singe said, “The caretakers and night guards should be here soon. I expect John Stretch will come with them. I’m going to draw a pitcher of the dark.”

The dark was the most potent beer we had. I had been unaware of its presence till now. The cold well must have been modified to handle multiple kegs.

Singe’s tail vanished round the edge of the doorway. The Windwalker said, “She doesn’t like me.”

“No. But she’s mellowing.”

“Why doesn’t she like me?”

“She thinks you’re trying to push into our lives. She feels threatened. She’s fragile.” I made no mention of her season. Maybe the Dead Man could explain that later in a way that made sense to a human woman.

The Windwalker sipped tea and frowned delicately. She seemed waiflike and vulnerable. “How could I injure her?”

I gave Old Bones a few seconds to caution me before I said, “She sees all women in the mirror of Tinnie Tate.” The redhead had to come up sometime.

“The abrasive woman who was there for some of the excitement at the World Theater, back when.”

“That would be Tinnie.”

“You’re still involved.”

“You know my situation perfectly well.”

She smiled a wan, forlorn little smile. “I might have looked into it.”

“Singe never liked Tinnie much. She feels guilty about that. She thinks she should like Tinnie because I like her. So now she feels like she needs to be a voice speaking for Tinnie because Tinnie can’t speak for herself. Today she found out that both Dean and my partner across the way approve of you. So she feels more pressured.”

“I see.” She glowed like a kid who had just won a tough race against outstanding competition.

“I was surprised, too.”

“Yes?” The glow waxed stronger. The woman was amazing. She might be who she was, one of the dozen most powerful mortals living, with potential for growth, but she was as naïve as a ten-year-old in some ways. She was starved for approval.

Strafa said, “She’s right about one thing. I mean to steal you away.”